


Blind Trust

by Xhuuya



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11058447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xhuuya/pseuds/Xhuuya
Summary: Angela presses forward, pushing Amelie back into the nearby wall. She swallows Amelie’s startled noise in a bruising kiss, caressing her hips with the fingertips that slide between skin and the thin material of the oversized t-shirt. A low growl like a whine builds in her throat as she takes Amelie's lip between her teeth.





	Blind Trust

**Author's Note:**

> An iron-smut discord thing. I couldn't force anymore really, but I do like what I have enough to share I suppose.

**“Teach me to feel another’s woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.” Alexander Pope**

 

[I _need_ you to trust me tonight.]

Amelie considers the buzzing holovid nearby for a moment. Normally, on a day off, she wouldn’t have the device anywhere near her; however, Angela was called in for an emergency earlier and hell if she’d miss a call from her. Or, it seemed in this case, a text. She squinted and picked the device off the end table, firing a quick reply.

[I always trust you.]

\- - -

Angela presses forward, pushing Amelie back into the nearby wall. She swallows Amelie’s startled noise in a bruising kiss, caressing her hips with the fingertips that slide between skin and the thin material of the oversized t-shirt. A low growl like a whine builds in her throat as she takes Amelie's lip between her teeth.

When she pulls away, dark eyes ringed in exhaustion and stress regard her with a quiet curiosity, a silent question.

Amelie smells the smoke on Angela’s breath, knowing immediately that she lost the patient she was called in to help. It’s easy to imagine her getting to the base too late.

_Too late_...

_The technology couldn't bring him back and Angela knows it even before she pulls into the parking lot. The hum of the engine barely fades to quiet before she’s over the threshold and into the medical wing, roughly six people surrounding her immediately with information and equipment. She still fights—despite the futility of it in cases like this—pulling from memory every traditional technique possible and combining it with current technology._

_It is a stubborn desire, the one to save._

_God. She hates the conversation with loved ones when she can't manage to meet their unspoken expectations._

_When that failure inevitably becomes reality hours later, she lights up with shaking hands outside on the med bay’s balcony, coughing through the first drag. Her hand slides over the cold, rain-slicked metal railing as she slumps forward, feeling nauseous as she tries to exhale her shame. She wishes it would wash away like the ashes in the rain._

_Every time it's like this, every time she wishes that what people say about doctors becoming numb was true. To feel nothing at all would be better than this. There's only so many times she can be a miracle worker._

_The comm in her ear echoes her words to Amelie, and she's appreciative that it can't convey how much her voice wavers as she provides confirmation to send the text._

In the present, Amelie breathes a soft sigh against Angela’s lips, a devilish smirk lighting her golden eyes with mischief and desire. Her fingers briefly tangle in Angela’s messy ponytail before she pulls it down, drawing her nails through the curls and over the back of her neck before she pulls her into another kiss. This one is soft but insistent, it is consent, trust, and—as difficult as it had been to admit at one time—love.

Amelie knows what her good doctor needs.

_Control._

There is no helping the way her smile twists when Angela moves her hand down to grab a wrist and drag her to the bedroom.

_Just because she knows doesn't mean she’ll make it easy._

\---

Quick, ragged breaths stutter as Amelie’s heart races. The chain connected to the headboard clinks and pulls taut as her head falls forward, the leather of the collar biting lines into her pale skin in protest to the movement.

Panic threatens to rise like bile in her throat, but Angela’s hands are sudden and cool against her cheeks beneath the blindfold, and she’s grounded so forcibly that it feels like she could shatter in her steady hands. Her awareness is as blinding as a supernova, and her startled whimper is drowned in the passionate kiss that follows. 

Angela trails her thumbs over Amelie’s skin, brushing rivulets of tears from her cheeks, kissing her lips slow and careful. She lets her lips linger—the tickle of her breath against skin raw from attention—before placing gentle kisses against the fabric covering her eyes. She leans back and moves her hands to Amelie’s shoulders, rubbing small circles with her thumbs, watching her with the critical eye of a medical professional.

Amelie takes a few breaths, waiting for the shuddering to stop. After a moment, she shakes her head and rolls the shoulders resting under Angela’s palms. Even with her eyes hidden, her body language returns to the confidence that borders on arrogance.

The chain slacks as she sits up and lifts her head. “Continue.”

“You forget who is in control here.” Angela removes her hands and moves around the bed until she’s sitting behind Amelie, enjoying the curve of her back and muscled shoulders with her fingertips. Her touch is light, the tip of nails tracing the parallel lines up and down her spine until she gives a sudden tug on the collar. “I do believe I'm the one giving orders, _kitten_.”

Amelie's silence is disobedience—of which she is aware—her eyes close as her lip twitches in amusement. She swallows the comment resting on her tongue and waits, eager to allow it to play out in the way Angela wants.

The chain provides a central point from which to yank Amelie's head back, but Angela opts to wrap her fingers through inky black hair instead. “You toy with me knowing I love to wipe that bratty smirk off your face, don't you?”

“Can't say I know what you mean.” Amelie bites the inside of her cheek, trying to stop the smile. It's easier to school a neutral expression when Angela can't see her eyes.

Angela watches the tendons in Amelie's forearm as she flexes her fingers in the cuffs behind her back. The restraints aren't too tight—they had already discussed the setup beforehand—but Angela watches for things like a hawk. It is not a movement of discomfort, but is actually one of Amelie's tells for impatience.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” Angela caresses Amelie’s sides, tracing matching lines from hips to ribs as her tongue traces the shell of her ear. She hums a low growl as her lips move along Amelie’s throat—exposed by the slight tilt that serves as plenty invitation—pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse point.

Angela can feel the hunger thrumming in the blood she pulls to the surface between her teeth, the warmth of it contrasting with cool skin, coating her tongue as she licks over angry red marks that serve as a shadow of the collar. “Tell me what you're thinking, kitten.”

“I want you to fuck me like you own me.” Amelie finds the words in breathless moan, barely a whisper of a sound, as the doctor continues to decorate her skin with bruises. In the darkness behind the blindfold, each touch is flames licking over her skin, scorching a trail that dips between her legs and burns with the molten heat of desire. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might add a second chapter if I ever feel up to writing more of it, but I dunno. Writing has alluded me something fierce lately.


End file.
